WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.2 - SECOND PROCEDURE
By Ryan O'Neil
You call the receptionist and make an appointment for the second procedure - a full body lift.
“You’re in luck! We have an opening this Tuesday at 10am,” the receptionist tells you. Her voice, nasal and piercing, reeked of pure Staten Island diva attitude. She asked, no, demanded, that you arrive promptly and refrain from eating 24 hours prior to the procedure.
“I thought it was eight hours prior to surgery?” You question. “24 hours seems kind of dramatic if you ask me,” you say with a chuckle.
“Look Sugar, rules are rules, mmmkay? We’ll see you Tuesday at 10 sharp. Buh-bye now.”
CLICK
You stand motionless with your iPhone still held firmly to your ear listening to silence. I did it, you think to yourself. I fuckin’ did it!
A wave of fear crashes against you, making you almost puke where you are standing, but the thought of being an A-lister again soothes your worries and calms your fears.
That night you sit naked once again on your bed in front of the mirror that you dragged in from the changing room. You gaze at your current topology and know that in a few short days your stomach will be flat and youthful once again.
You swing around and slap your ass. “Bamm! Good bye!” you say.
All of this excitement and posing is making you hungry. Naked, you slip down the back stairs and into the kitchen to make a sandwich. While slathering a piece of whole wheat bread with a thick layer of honey mustard a thought hits you: refrain from eating 24 hours prior to the procedure. You recoil as the voice of the Staten Island receptionista echoes through your head. 24 hours…24hours…24 hours…
Quickly you open the nearest cupboard and fish out the first thing that touches your fingertips. As luck would have it you pull forth a can of vanilla frosting. You tear open the lid and stick your tongue into the sugary white goodness. It tastes like Heaven in a can. You grab an ice cream scooper and begin to shovel the creamy sweetness into your mouth. Soon the scooper isn’t enough and you plunge your entire hand into the can. You scrape the contents up and fill your mouth.
The next few hours are spent sampling every morsel of food that you have in the house. From pickled pig’s feet to an entire log of pimento loaf, nothing is safe from your ravenous desire to eat the world.
Your hands covered in sauce and frosting, you reach for your iPhone and begin to dial. “Yes, can I get a meat lover's pizza and a meat lover's pizza with extra meat delivered?” You hang up and launch your phone into the air. It lands with a plop into a pot of something that once resembled butterscotch pudding, but now looks more like something a flunky from Hell’s Kitchen cooked up.
You cannot wait another thirty minutes for the pizzas to be delivered. You must eat, and eat you must. You have gone mad. Your brain is toast. Mmmmmmm toast. You run screaming through the house pulling your hair out in chucks. Mmmmmmmm alfalfa sprouts! You shove a handful of hair into your mouth and begin to chew. You fall onto the couch face first laughing like a lunatic. You rip open the couch cushions and begin to eat the fiberfill innards. Tastes like chicken! You work your way outside where you launch yourself onto the front lawn. While attempting to eat a sprinkler head (Mmmmmmm, cherry slushy) the system goes off and fills your insides with gallons of water. It is here that the pizza delivery boy finds you 22 minutes later: dead, naked and bloated, with water shooting from your backside like some sort of freakish water fountain that could only be found in Ron Jeremy’s private meditation garden. The pizza boy drops the steaming boxes and grabs his cell phone. This has GOT to be worth something, he thinks to himself as he records the scene that will eventually get 28 million hits on TMZ and YouTube.
Congratulations! You’re famous once again!
THE END
